As my mother twirled and danced in the banquet hall, wearing a sparkling pink dress – fit for the queen that she is – all of the trials and tribulations of the past year- and- a- half were in her rearview mirror.
Gone were the chemotherapy sessions, the fatigue and body aches that followed.
Gone were the weekly checkups, MRIs and radiation screenings.
She was done being poked, prodded and sentenced to treatment she found inhumane.
Instead, she was on display for her loved ones, bathing in the glory of her 50th birthday – her first after beating cancer.
I’d imagine it was one of the happiest moments of her life, though a lot of this is imagination and second-hand accounts, because I was nowhere to be found.
As her other family members wrapped their arms around her, I was wrapped up in what’s become 99 percent of my life: a sports article.
I’d known about the party months prior, but instead chose to stay in Peoria and go to this year’s first iteration of the “War on I-74”.
I told myself it was one of the biggest games of the year, and that I’d have to make sacrifices like these if I wanted to succeed as a journalist.
But truthfully, I was being selfish, and it was the continuation of a behavior I’ve exhibited over the past four years.
I rarely, if ever, go back home.
I am always either working on an article or at my part-time job at T-Mobile.
There’s always a game to cover, a new player to write about and a deadline to meet. I’m always thinking about new ideas to push my craft forward, or a way in which I can stand out from the thousands of other journalists trying to make it in an unforgiving industry.
But in my conquest, I’ve lost touch with everything that’s not directly in front of me.
My family members, who have sacrificed so much for me to make it to this point, have gone through life-changing health issues, divorce and the birth of children.
I have a twin brother with whom I have little to no relationship, along with a nephew whom I’ve barely seen since he was born.
It’s wild and a little disheartening to think about, but I’ve justified it by telling myself that I’m chasing my dreams.
But what I began to realize, as I watched Bradley suffer their largest loss to Illinois State in over a decade, my dream life doesn’t exist without the people who sacrificed their own to invest in me.
It was a wakeup call; I realized I need to be better at balancing my life.
If my mother was disappointed in my decision, she didn’t show it; instead, she told me how proud she was of me.
It was the latest act of selflessness from someone who’s sacrificed much of their adult life for me.
She’s been my superhero for 22 years.
For the next 50, I’ll put on my cape.
